Family Ski Trip
by SapphireShineszx1400
Summary: Bulma plans a family ski trip and invites the whole gang. But first order of business: get her stubborn saiyan prince husband to comply. Unexpectedly, after all her hard planning, another lag is hit when a formidable enemy from space shows up. Will this unforeseen obstacle be resolved without any casualties, or was the heiress's hard planning all done in vain?
1. Chapter 1

A/N...Here's a new story.

Bulma decides to plan a family trip along with the gang. A week in the slopes there's bound to be some trouble...Can the heiress pull it off?

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

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" It's my turn Goten!"

"No, Trunks, It's my turn!"

"No you dit, mine," Trunks grabbed the remote control from the obsidian eyed boy. Before the other boy could feign tears, he tossed one of the couch pillows at him. The pillow smacked the boy's face sideways. The action only seemed to anger the boy, and with one swoop, his fist met with the lavender haired prince's chin. The force in the attack was powerful enough to thwart him aside. Goten had never been one to resort to violence. He took after his father's benevolence, but if anyone could trigger any violence tendency, it would be Trunks. The boy, like his father, was vulgar with his words, and it was with his depraving words that he undermined, disrespected, and enlivened anger. He was cunning, direct, and facetious with his mouth. Often so, it was Trunks's condescending nature that triggered Goten's dark side.

Goten's punch had caused Trunks to release his hold on the remote. Bitterness filled the young prince as the remote in his hands flipped and landed in Goten's. Rubbing his chin profusely, the boy contemplated the inward affect the punch had on him. The hit pained his pride more so his chin, and for his wounded pride, a shadow of shame was cast on him. If his father was present, he'd glower at the boy, with disappointment gleaming from his ebony eyes.

Shaking with anger, the boy charged his friend. He hollered out a battle cry. His first preempted strike was barely countered by the opposing foe, but with dynamite speed, his second strike sent the boy flying across the room. Goten collided back first with the wall. The pictures that hung about the wall suffered greatly. Dramatically they fell, immediately met with fractures and dents on their silver metallic shells. One frame avoided any fractures or dents, but its survival was short lived as Goten unknowingly stomped his left foot on it. The two boys for what seemed to be minutes stared each other down in their own respective battle stance. Each trying to make the other back down with their formidable glares. Inexperienced with proper battle strategical thinking, Goten shot a ki blast. A mischievous smirk played on the young prince's face. Taking the opportunity that his yet inexperience friend has given him, Trunks pressed his footing, giving him a solid undeterred stance, the boy caught the ki blast bare handed and sent it back to Goten. The young boy was meet face first with the blast, but forming an _x_ with his arms, he was able to block off most of the fire power. The blocking might have protected him from any burn marks, but it served no other use for he was thrown through the walls. The formerly canvased wall was now decorated with a giant, gaping hole.

A few rooms down, the rising commotion had begun to stir Bulma. She had kept herself locked in the lab; adding a few finishing touches on a new bot she had designed. Her focus wavered here and there at the boys constant shouting and gibing, but it wasn't until she heard the giant boom, and the ground shaking beneath her did she take the incentives to check on them. Trunk was loudly shouting profane words, and with an eye roll the heiress thought, _we know where he got that from..._She reached the room and her eyes and jaw gaped open. The mess was inconceivable, it was hardly valid to call it a _mess. _From an apparent ki blast from Trunks the couch was split asunder. The wall had an obnoxious hole in it. The pictures she had taken so long to arrange and frame were all piles of broken glass, broken frames, and wrinkled photographs.

It didn't take long for Bulma to snap out of her shock to establish her notable fiery outbursts. "Trunks! Goten!" The two boys, who had each other in submitting grapples, looked up at Bulma. Realizing the depth in his mother's anger, Trunks quickly released Goten and folded his arms behind him; a stance he normally took when trying to emit innocence for any wrong doings. Bulma squared her arms on her hips, and bent her body in a scolding manner towards the boys. Her head turning from Trunks to Goten, she wagged her index at them. "You two with your s_uper saiyan_ strength destroyed my living room!"

Trunks turned behind him only to see that his aggressive behavior had split his mother's couch asunder. Habitually if anything like that happened, Trunks was quick to point his fingers at Goten, but he'd been caught red-handed. His mother was fairly passionate about her home decor, and although money was never an issue for them in replacing any broken appliances, his actions still were met with punishment. His gaze descended from his mother's fiery blue orbs to the floor. His cheeks went scarlet when she demanded to know who started the fight. He knew although he did not throw the first punch, his actions had summoned Goten's anger.

When the two remained stagnant and silent Bulma turned to Trunks. If anything he should know better not to fight in the house. She'd vehemently warned him that his battles should either be held outside or the gravity room.

"That's it." The heiress grabbed her son by the forearm and dragged him down the halls, "time for _you_ to tell your dad of your actions."

The boy was stronger than his mother, but at that threat he felt his strength paralyzed against hers, "No! No! please mom!" He begged and begged and begged. But his begging fell on deaf ears. Bulma stomped her way down the halls to the gravity room. If Trunks wasn't going to listen to her there was only person on this planet that had the power to subdue the boy and subjugate him into obedience. Goten afraid for his own fate decided on an impromptu exit.

"I'll pay for the damages mom!" the boy cried, the gravity room was now in his line of sight. He felt his heart drop at what awaited him. The boy knew if his actions resulted in interrupting his father's training, his actions of misbehavior would not be what incited the elder prince to take command of the situation. It would be the fact that Trunks came between his precious hours of training.

"With what money?" Trunks barely caught his mother's response to his proposal.

"With my..." he pondered for a second, "Ski equipment money!"

Bulma stopped her advancement, and looked down at him. Her expression was conflicted. "Boy, you're really scared aren't ya…" With a defeated huff, Bulma let her grasp on the boy go. Trunks smiled widely at his victory, but his mother's scolding frown brought him back to a modest composure. She bent down to matched her son's height. "If you promise me…pinky swear, " she brought her pinky up, " that you will never ever fight in the family room again…I'll let it go. Just this once." Trunks without any hesitation grabbed his mother's pinky with his and shook on it.

"I promise mom…" He was lucky this time. Trunks returned to the destroyed family room. Three bots were already in there fixing the destruction in the room. Trunks looked around and noticed Goten's absence, and with an unamused huff he grabbed for the remote and sat on the broken couch. _What a loser he totally ditched me._

With things from the evening settled, The heiress went back to her work. Her son for the first time offered to take responsibility for his action, albeit with a little fire on his ass, but still a grand feat for her boy. The feat was hardly demanding of a golden star, but the heiress felt generous.

Trunks had been raving all year for ski boots, and Bulma, trying to instill value in her son, said he could buy the boots with his saved up allowance. It had been about a month ago since the two formed the deal, and Bulma was proud that the boy had enough responsibility and determination to have done so. That was another grand feat for the boy, and for that she decided on a reward.

What better way to let the boy enjoy his hard earned toy than to take him to the slopes to try them out. The idea of skidding down a snow capped mountain stirred fear in her gut, but her worry seemed foolish. The boy has done way more risky stunts, and this was mere child play. " A ski trip." She mouthed to herself. The idea was tempting, but the planning would be gruesome; especially with her schedule.

"Eh, I'm the president of the freakin company," she raved, setting the bots back in the box, "I can just say I'm going on a family ski trip." She stopped and thought for a minute, and with an excited squeal she jumped contently. " A family ski trip." She breathed. This had to be one of her greatest ideas. One of her most epic ones to say the least. She could not sustain her hype. She needed this vacation, not just family bonding sake wise, but the heiress truly needed a break from her work. Ten hours a day in a lab really stressed the skin...and keeping her youthful complexion was on her top tens.

She left the lab in a start, excited to jot down activities, budget, and invites. She wanted to invite everyone...She knew getting a hold of Goku would prove to be a minor ditch on the road. That man only thought about food and training. The others were pretty hip with their phones to contact. While jotting down the blueprints to her trip one thing crossed her mind. Another minor dent in this whole operation: her husband. Vegeta's disdained forced quality bonding. Through the years he became more settled into family life enough to naturally offer quality time, and by that, it mean't he wasn't locked in the Gravity room. But anything forced, he felt controlled, and the insecurity of being manipulated caused him to shut down and reject everything. His hatred for the forced quality time could easily be assuaged with words, but his hatred for any and all contact with the human race would prove to be a hurdle. And for the gang, he'd only tolerated them. For one they were Bulma's friends so he had to, and second, he saw them more adept than the rest of the population.

With a terse draft of the trip at her disposal, the blue haired heiress began concocting the plans needed to get her husband on board. It was her only mission, and if she knew her husband, the time it would take to persuade (or threaten whichever came first) him would take a probable seven days. He would protest, protest, protest, and she would meet his resistance with more persistence. One way or the other, he will acquiesce to this trip.

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Thank you for reading...

Feel free to drop me a review...I love reading your comments and feedback.

Stay tune for the next chapter!

Bulma, through many cunning attempts and severe extents, tries to ger her husband on board. Will she accomplish the impossible task, or will her efforts be in vain?


	2. The Mission

A/N...chapter two we see Bulma trying to convince her stubborn husband to accompany them on the trip. See if she can succeed.

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

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Bulma kept herself busy with a word puzzle; waiting in inactivity was something she was not capable of. It toyed with her nerves. With the extra time at her disposal, she had arranged all the books in the library, bathed Bra, and aided Trunks with his homework. The heiress had assigned herself dutiful tasks to pass the time. And still she'd yet come in contact with Vegeta. The prince had never stayed more than 7 hours in the room. And she could have sworn she'd stalled her time for over 8 hours waiting for him. He couldn't possibly have enough energy to withhold his average gravity pull. That amount of time could kill a man. But Vegeta wasn't a typical man; he was a saiyan. Saiyans were an advanced form of life. They had more tolerance for pain—borderline indestructible, powerful, subjugating, and plain awful rude (Goku's benevolence exempts him from that proverbial fact).

Another half hour of leaning forward in her chair, her gaze unfocused, she could feel her nerves spiking up and down. The thought of him renouncing the idea without any room for reasoning cradled her rising nerves. She had, however, many tricks up her sleeve before taking any firm 'hell nos'. The first trick she had used was persuasive enough to coaxed him into bringing Bulla to her first play date. He'd simply have to drop her and leave, but that wasn't why he disdained the practice. Whenever forced to do the chore, he was met with clingy, overly sympathizing mother's who'd taken it upon themselves to bombard him with coos and questions. Their over frivolous persona was even too much for Bulma. Partially, it was her intolerance of the women that she'd forced her husband to do it. She'd kept that reasoning to herself. Forcing him to that job was easy. He'd eventually oblige to anything involving Bra. That, although he would never vocally admit, was his little princess. Forcing him to go to a place where he'd be out of his comfort zone, surrounded by earthlings, would serve a bit more complex than taking his daughter to a play date. Would her art of persuasion fail her?

Her question would soon be answered. It wasn't after the clock stroke 6, did the door to the gravity room hissed open. Like fog on a platform, steam bled through the door. His sleek silhouette cut through the fog slowly. His notoriously stoic scowl painted on his moist face. He had a white towel around his neck, so the drops of liquid on his face was the condensed droplets of water after a shower. Bulma sat up, her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm, she approached her husband. Her approach leveled; each taken lascivious step was, in its own, an attack to weaken him. Her efforts would soon fail when the prince stalked passed her with solid, unwavering, eyes. She sucked her teeth at her already failed attempt. She hadn't even fully approached him, and the plan was coming to bits.

Vegeta hadn't prepensely ignored his wife's lascivious vibes. He had just been hungry. Spending well more than eight hours training under 300 times earth's normal gravity could do that to a man. Bulma followed him suit. Once in the kitchen, she powered back her charm and intercepted Vegeta's advancement towards the fridge. The scowl on Vegeta's face deepened and before his mouth opened to question his wife's foolish behaviors, Bulma opened the fridge door open for him. A small grin appeared on her face, and she motioned for him to have a seat. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, but without any act on his suspicion, he complied. Bulma took out a small capsule from the fridge. This was the first move of **_plan A: Please husband with abundant amount of food._** It was more than a fact that the best way to a Saiyan's heart was in fact through their stomach. Excellent example for the theory was Goku: he had literally correlated marriage as a discreet word for a type of dish.

Closing the fridge, she walked to where her husband sat. She met him with a playful grin to which he met her with a flummoxed expression. She cleared her throat, "I made your favorites," she clicked the cap and threw it on the table. Within seconds it exploded. After the light puff of smoke from the capsule cleared an extravagant arrangements of his favorite meals and desserts occupied the velvety clothed ornamented table. Three candles took refuge in the center. They flickered ever so slightly, matching the mood and cadence of the current moment. The lights in the kitchen had mysteriously mellowed out into a dimmer glow. Vegeta looked up, oddly confused by the turn of events. He eyed the woman questioningly, but he still spoke no words on the matter. The woman was a strange, manic depressed character, and if he were to question everything odd she'd done he'd exhaust the air in his lungs.

Bulma broke the long silence before it slipped into awkwardness, "Well, dig in. " She was sitting facing to him, and in front of her was a plate filled with the goodies from the table. Vegeta grabbed for a fork, wordlessly. Bulma huffed inwardly. She had truly hoped he'd speak of his gratitude for the meal than digging in immediately, but she let that little bother slip. She had bigger fish to fry. For a long while the only sound that emitted from the room was the clanging sound of metal to ceramic. The sound synced with the sound of chomping mouths and swallows. Still no words exchanged among them. Bulma grew nervous, and the silence was pinning her to a corner. She had to act fast before she lost the chance to bond and strategically propose the vacation. Saiyan's were fast eaters.

Again she cleared her throat, "Do you like the stewed lambs...they are your favorites," she cocked her head to the side, and let her wide smile veil her temporarily chiaroscuro features. Occupied with the savory food before him, Vegeta failed to catch her affectious ways. Bulma groaned at her husband's lack of attention towards her. If not for the many years of marriage and clear emotional bond before them, she'd crack under insecurities. But she knew how strong their love was. It did not need any forced actions to reprimand her. Still it bore down on her.

She went for another jab at a conversion, this time attacking it at a more relevant point. "So how are the bots I designed?"

"A bit slow if you ask me" he finally spoke. Bulma repressed a grunt. The first exchanged of words from his part and it had to be an insult to her. If not for her self-control, she would have launched herself to him, and strangle him. _Jerk _she thought to herself.

"Oh, my" her tone drenched in insincerity. " I guess your just so strong I can't keep up." Vegeta looked up at her, his eyes planted on hers. He sensed her insincerity off the bat, but countering her would only hold him from finishing his meal.

"Did you press the black button under the reset?" She asked.

"Black button?"

Bulma chuckled and laid out the information to the new programming, "Well, If you had listened to me last time you'd know—"

"Spit it out woman!" He interjected. He'd lost his patience at this point. He didn't like her skidding around whatever ruse this whole dinner was meant for.

Bulma quirked one blue brow at him, "Well I was going to tell you about the bots."

"Not the bots," his tone was more leveled. "What's the meaning for all this," his hands pointed at all the festive decor of the table and food. Bulma cursed herself inwardly for coming off too conspicuous. For this whole plan to work subtlety was the key. When that key had been flushed, it served Bulma a predicament she had not prepared for.

She decided to play it coy, "What is it then?"

Losing his patience and fast, he once again flagged his hands over the food indicating to her that this whole extravagant dinner was too out of character for her...For her to concoct such a ruse, she would need time, and for her to have time, she would need to take some time off work.

He was catching on to her fast, and to thwart him off her trail she decided to play a different card, a more aggressive, defensive card. " Whatever Vegeta!" She yelled, and pushed her chair back and stood indignantly. She grabbed her empty appliances and threw them aggressively into the sink. "I do one nice thing for you and rather than thanking me, you _accuse _me of wrong doings!" She squared her hands to her hips and marched towards him and grabbed his empty appliances and doing the same thing she did to hers. Vegeta arched his eyebrows up at her mood doing a complete 180. He assumed her to be slightly mad, but her actions could prove him otherwise. The woman was a few bulbs short of mentally apt. Genius or not, she was missing a few screws.

"Why are you being defensive?" He smirked darkly, and crossed his arms. His words were making her squirm, and from her shifting eyes, and uncomfortable mannerism; he knew something was up.

"Defensive?!" She threw back, "Oh I'll show you defensive," and with those being her last words, she stormed out the kitchen.

She had only made it to the outside door of their bedroom until her feisty façade faded into an anxious one. She placed a calming hand on her heart to feel the rush. She let out controlled breaths to bring back her composure. _Alright he's starting to suspect. I can't let him know now, not until he's in a better mood. _She went into their room and flopped back first on her side of the bed. Suddenly a mischievous grin grew on her lips-her grin progressively stretched out from ear to ear-a grin that could only assert the formation of a new plan. _Onto plan B_ she thought as her eyes flew to a wooden chest securely hidden in the crook of their bedroom.

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I hoped you like it...

Review if you'd like. I want to know what you think of it! I always like feedback...

Stay tune for the next Chapter.

Inside the Treasure Chest.

Bulma has another plan under her sleeves...and this one involves this mysterious chest. What of this plan and will it be enough to get the saiyan prince to agree.


	3. Inside the Treasure Chest

A/N...Chapter three...discover what's inside that mysterious chest and what Bulma plans to do with it...and will that be enough to persuade the prince. Plus, Vegeta still has no clue of this whole trip will he put the pieces together before Bulma has the chance to ask him? Find out now.

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.

Things will get a bit hot and steamy so viewer's discretion is advised.

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It had been years since that chest was opened. Securely tucked in the crook of the room, the dark intricately chiseled coffer burrowed itself in the shadows collecting the dust from years of neglected use. It was a big bulky chest, and the wood was grazed fashionably to make arcane designs. A giant lock hung on the mouth of the chest. Bulma let a smile escape her as she reminisced the first time Vegeta saw the contents in the forbidden box. He played off his shock, shrugging it off; proclaiming the contents in that box did not matter to him. But it did in fact matter. Bulma had welded the box herself. It was a compartment she kept all her _toys._ It was about two years post the cell battle, when she open the box. Once opening the box, she had beckoned her husband over. Upon seeing the content in the box, his eyes went large and his cheek turned scarlet red. A few items in the wooden crate were foreign to him, but he had enough sense in his mind to know that most if not all the articles in that box were a devious, twisted products of sexual recreation. Bulma held a smug look on her face as her husband looked on in absolute wonder. Noticing her complacent look, he wiped the shock and amazement off his face and replaced it with a neutral, unfazed look.

That memory of that day had dug itself into her memories. It had been one of the most memorable days of her life. Since that day, the box was never touched. The two had outgrown the mediocre toys, they had advanced to a higher plateau of love-making. It seemed that those toys, rather than add more facets and fun, slowed them down. Often serving as a block and annoying piece of plastic digging itself under their skin as they rolled about the bed.

Back then those toys had become disincentives to their fun. Bulma rolled herself off the bed and made her way to the chest. She knelt in front of the box. The nostalgia had kept her grin unwavering. She stretched one of her hands towards the box and brushed away the layers of dust. Underneath the thick layer of dust, manually carved initials of the couples name materialized. A short gasp escaped the heiress. It had been so long that she had completely forgotten that fragment of the memory. She stared at it longingly.

_/_

_Bulma retrieved a short, sharp piece of metal from her tool box, " We can use this to carve our initials." she bent down in front of the box and began etching the letter __**B **__against the wood's exterior shell. The scratching sound became a cacophonous, flustering sound to the Prince's sensitive ears. _

_"What is the purpose of this woman?" He pressed both of hands against his ears, " must we write our initials. It is our property, why would we need to claim ownership of it by writing our names. It will not be robbed from here."_

_"No, silly" she laughed, "It's not to keep it from being taken. It's to just..." she paused, not knowing how to explain the tradition to her confused husband. "It's just something people on this planet do...usually it's done on trees. It's to mark their love on a territory."_

_"But I have already marked my territory," Vegeta returned, impatience stirring in his tone. Bulma stopped etching and turn her head to face him. His brows were knit together, and his arms were crossed._

_She rolled her eyes, "Not that sort of territorial mark," she said in hushed tones, afraid that the walls had ears. "It's not a bite..." she added, before returning to the letter she was working on. So far the sharp metal serve little to no visible dent to the tough shell of the wood. She huffed and started pressing more force to the metal. Her grip fastened around the metal, and she could feel a small pain rising from her palm from the tight grip. She gave up, and looked up at Vegeta for assistance. He was still confused about the tradition. If human's marked their territory by sketching just one letter of their name onto a wooden object, what was the symbolic weight of it? It hardly seemed as meaningful as a bite. When a saiyan warrior bit his lover, often times near the carotid artery, he left a permanent mark. It symbolized eternal devotion. It is with that bite a saiyan can create that unbreakable bond with their partner. They became life partners that offered the promise of protection, trust, and respect to one another. The bond created by the bite gave the partner's access to each other's thoughts, feelings, and in time of danger, the lovers could sense their woes. What could a scratched piece of pine wood create other than saw dust and poorly scribbled out letters encircled by a lop sided heart. The whole tradition seemed meager to the prince._

_With a relenting eye roll the prince grabbed the metal from his wife, he analyzed the now jagged dull end of the metal. "This will serve no use," he flung it across the room. Before Bulma could object, he pointed one finger at the box. She regarded him with a confused look, but when a bright form of light flickered before his index, her eyes widened, and she jumped out of the way. Before too long, a thin line of ki protruded from his finger to the wood. With ease he was able to carve their initials. Bulma pushed on for a heart to frame their initials, but to that, he vehemently protested. Satisfied with the etched letters, Bulma crawled back in front of the box and proceeded to open the lock..._

_/_

That had been years ago, and looking at the initials now pulled at her heart-strings. She never confessed it to her husband, but it meant more than a lot when he himself had etched the letters: albeit it was with her strong encouragement that he finally relented, but the artist of this whole thing was him. She traced an index finger on the letters. Distracted by the reminiscing thoughts, she had forgotten of the plan. She snapped out of her haze and proceeded to unlock the box. She had to jog her mind up a bit for the lock was a combination lock.

Dialing _7-6-6,_ she pulled open the lock and lifted the lid. There was some resistance from the chest's lid. It had been so long that its been open that its outer design had welded; making a loud eerie creak sound. The content in the box was just as it was years ago. No sign of any disturbance. Bulma felt heat rising to her cheeks, as she searched through it.

She dug her hands deeper into the crate. Something caught her grip, and with a few tugs, she pulled it out. It was a black felt whip; gilded with scarlet red lines. She twirled the object in her hands for a while, inspecting its condition.

"Whoa what is that?" Bulma, with intense speed she didn't know she possessed, stuffed the whip back into the chest and closed it. She turned to her son with a shy smile. She could feel her pulse rising, and with the rising pulse, her face turned a bright red. Trunks scrunched his face at his mother's weird behavior. Something told him his curiosity would only scar him...

His eyes went to the object his mother tried to conceal from his line of view. "Is that a treasure chest!" His voice rose with excitement, "What's in there?"

Bulma slapped a hand on her face, and slid it down slowly pulling her skin down. "Son," she began, regaining a leveled composure, "This is..." her eyes averted from his. Returning her gaze back to her son she continued, "this is a top secret treasure chest." Behind her, her hands were hard at work trying to click the lock back in. Without her sight on the chest, the task proved impossible.

Trunks took a few steps closer. "Whatever it is, I'll find out sooner or later mom." The boy crossed his arms and a smug look appeared on his face. Tiny beads of sweat formed on the heiress's forehead as she thought of her son breaking open the box and discovering the contents inside. Some of the things in there were discreet enough for a 12 years old boy to think nothing of, but there were other things that could traumatize the boy. She couldn't let him have the chance.

"Listen young man," she admonished, "If you go anywhere near this; expect my little promise of keeping your actions from this morning from your father terminated..." She crossed her arm and cocked her head victoriously, "Got it?" Trunks nodded, with fear in his eyes. He deliberated on asking his mother more questions, but from the crazy look on her face the young prince decided to take his leave. After the boy left the room, she collapsed to her knees with a sigh of relief. She reopened the box and continued to search through the box.

_Mom is acting so weird._ The boy thought as he poured himself some juice. He took the cup and slurped his juice. He narrowed his eyes at the direction of his parents room. He could hear the rustling of objects from the room. He couldn't help but be inquisitive of his mother's secretive behavior. With his grip still around the cup, he squeezed hard as he formed a plan to find more out. The cup under his strength cracked, leaking out a majority of the liquid.

"Damn it," he threw the broken cup away and began to clean his mess. It was then his father appeared through the door... The elder prince was dressed in his casual attire, he had changed into regular clothes after his training from this morning. He regarded his son with a look to which the boy returned a innocent smile.

"Just a spill," the boy defended before his father asked. Vegeta nodded and went down the hall to his room. Trunks stopped cleaning for a second to watch his father enter the room. He knew from when he was in there, his mother had been looking through a chest for something. She had seemed a bit jittery when he questioned her about the box. He wondered if she was still in there looking through. To subdue his curiosity, he decided to follow where the action would soon begin. Neither did he know that whatever would soon erupt from the room would be of no concern for him, and would serve as a potentially traumatic experience.

Vegeta entered the room, hands dipped in his pants pockets, and with his regular hard scowl. Bulma had transitioned from the floor to the end of the bed. She had a familiar look on her face.

"What?" he queried, noticing her long pressing stare. Bulma motioned for him to close the door with just a tilt of her head. Not knowing why she was so seductive with her movements and not one to argue, he complied. Before the prince let the words form in his mouth, the heiress jumped off the bed and pulled him by the arm. He was far stronger than her, and her pull would not have normally affected him, but her touch resonated something. She lured him to the bed and sat him down. She inched herself closer to him, their faces in close proximity. He remained leveled and tried showing little to no weakness to her games, but that became a harder act to hold up when she started to massage the tension off his shoulder. His animal instincts would be to take control of her ruse, and plant her down aggressively on the bed and show her how the game was played, but he knew from her behavior all day, this was just foreplay for deceit. He's known her long enough to know that she wasn't against using her charm to get something. She'd done it when she wanted him to go to the science expo with her. Nothing worst than being stuck in a room with people who think they're Einstein reincarnated. From that incident, he had learned whenever she played the docile card, there was a string attached.

Noticing his indifference, she decided to pull out the big guns. A few years back, it was established that they had outgrown the contents in the crate. But revisiting the past with these _toys_ could serve as something more than foreplay. She decided, right then and there, not to stall. He knew something was up, and she could sense his suspicion from his staggering ability to resist her out-pouring charms. She was wedged between his legs. Her arms looped around his neck, she kissed him on the cheeks. When she felt no resistance from him, she decided to add more force to her kisses. She trailed tiny, shallow kisses up to his ears. Seductively, she began to lick the outer cardinals of his ears. That usually was what did the trick, and as she predicted it did the trick. He brought both his hands to her arms and flipped their positions. Lighting speed, Bulma found herself pinned to the bed, and he was the one on his feet. Like he always did, he took the charge. An alluring grin played on her features, as she cupped her hands on his face. She pulled him in and planted a long soft kiss on his lips. Progressively, the soft kiss transformed into a deeper, stronger, passionate kiss. Re-looping her arms around his neck, she used it to incline her body up from the bed. He used her elevation, and wrapped his strong hands around her revealed back. Under his hands he could feel her back muscles contracting as she tenderly embraced him.

Not the type to stay restricted to just the bed, Vegeta stood back up. Bulma narrowed her eyes sensually at him, and using the bed's bounciness, jumped into her husbands arms. He caught her easily. She looped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles to give her a tighter hold. Before too long, Bulma's back was pinned to the wall. She let out a loud pleased breath. He pinned her hard enough to disturb the portraits that hung. Serving as the fireworks to their moment they fell down simultaneously creating a chorus of broken glass sounds.

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A/N... I really hope you guys like it...

Please review! Tell me what you think...I like reading any feedback!

More to come!

Stay tune for Chapter 4!

Silver Orb of Destruction...

Bulma catches the prince off guard and slips in the question, but before doing so, she finds something in the mysterious chest...Not knowing herself how to use the content...something she herself created...this little thing packs a wallop. Find out what it is on the next exciting chapter.


	4. Silver Orb of Destruction

**A/N...Chapter 4: Silver Orb of Destruction**

**Many things occur in this chapter; you'll have to read and find out!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.**

**Again, I stress, Viewer discretion is advised...**

**Last chapter, a lot happened, and by a lot, Bulma and Vegeta were engaged in some hot steamy activities. See where it leads to, and how Bulma segue's the ski trip. Also, Bulma finds something in the treasure chest that blows the couple away, quite literally. Find out what it is now!**

**Enjoy!**

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The two traveled from wall to wall in their room, breaking all the pictures that hung.

From downstairs, Trunks heard the raucous, and his first thought was that his mother had snapped at his father for something he had said or done. In her wrath she was known for throwing anything she could get her hands on at him. But the sound of his parent's heavy breathing told him otherwise. Realizing this, his face turned green with disgust, and with his super speed, the boy beeline to the door.

The couple continued their intercourse paying no attention to their son abandoning ship. Bulma had begun to unzip her dress from the back, but impatient as ever, Vegeta did the rest for her and in doing so ripped the dress passed the zippers. Bulma did not care for the dress anyway. With just her bra and undergarments on, the two continued kissing relentlessly.

"Bed," the heiress breathed between sloppy passionate kisses. Complying, the prince unpinned her from the wall and laid her out on the bed. Bulma kept her arms and legs wrapped around him giving him no room to move or escape—not that he wanted to.

With their warm-up almost over, Bulma decided to bring out the wooden chest full of toys. Before pulling away, she planted one last long kiss on him, suggesting that it wasn't over and she'd be back to finish. He regarded her with a confused look but did not speak on his bewilderment. The heiress went to the corner of the room where the chest had been kept and begin inscribing the combinations to the lock. Seeing the box stirred some nostalgia within the prince; It had been years since he'd even thought of it.

"I know we've outgrown these weak, silly, little toys," Bulma said, sounding a bit like her husband. "But lets try them...just for the hell of it."

Vegeta didn't protest. But his suspicion of something going on had solidified instantly. Her wanting to pull out the chest they've not touched in years was clear evidence that something was going on. They've never even considered to use it for any casual intercourse. He decided not to waste this time to question. With a loud click, the crate opened. She pressed her lips into a line as she deliberated on which of the toys to use.

_The whip?_ She considered, but then shook her head. He never liked the whip since after finding out people on this planet used it to subjugate animals or anything lower than them. Knowing that, he took it as a way of losing control and never allowed her to bring into any role play. _Hand cuffs?_ she thought, but shook her head once more. He hated those more than he hated the whip for it was another thing used to subjugate. After witnessing a man being handcuffed and shoved into a police car he had realized how these weak little bracelets were used to belittle the one cuffed in them. _The_ _taser_. She did a double take on that one. She tried to remember what had pushed her to by that as a sex toy in the first place, and then she then remembered how during intercourse, saiyans enjoyed, in fact, requested pain. It drove them mad with desire. It reminded them of battle, and since they already had a natural thirst for battle, it was only natural that it would serve as a turn on for them during intercourse. She'd discovered that one day during their love making she had accidentally kicked him. Rather than stopping to recover from the attack his eyes grew with desire...

The heiress had exhausted all the things in the chest. He hated practically everything in that coffer, but then something glinted underneath the other toys, catching her eyes. She rummaged through the box and grabbed for the mysterious item. It was a heavy metallic ball. Its steel outer case morphed her reflection into something abnormal. Holding it had sparked her memory of it. She had built this tiny compacted ball of metal about the same time she made the chest. It was the only thing in there they haven't tried. She tapped on it with her nails making a steely clink sound. She threw it in the air and caught it a few times. The steel frame felt cool to the touch. As she threw it, and played with it in her hands, she tried to remember the purpose for this abnormal device; in what ways could this be used for any sexual activity?

Vegeta soon broke his silence, " What is that supposed to be?" His tone was neutral. Bulma without removing her eyes from the ball shook her head. She had no idea why she even made such a thing. She threw the ball once more, but this time failing to catch it, the silver orb met the floor. The collision the ordinary object had with the floor created a powerful wave that rippled through the air. The wave circled around the ball, expanding simultaneously creating a barrier powerful enough to thrust Bulma's svelte body across the room. Lucky for her, she had a very fast, very powerful husband to catch her before she collided with the furniture. The explosion, ironically, was a muffled boom. Its destructive power sent a force strong enough to create tiny cracks on the wall.

Still securely in her lover's arms, the heiress eyed the ball with immense shock. Had he not caught her, she would have been thrown through the wall. She turned her head to meet his gaze. With a simple nod, she thanked him. She was still a bit shock by it all that her words would not form right to thank him properly.

"Are they still at it!" Trunks whined loudly, pivoting on his heal and exiting the house once again. From the explosion, he predicted that their activity had just left its warm up stage, and that his father had probably ascended. Not wanting to scar his childhood any further, he decided to return to Goten's house and stay there for the night. Though he knew the impromptu plan wouldn't sit well with ChiChi he'd rather face Chichi's wrath than add to his trauma.

As the young prince flew he thought of his little sister who was still home, and he thought of going back for her. But he quickly relented: "Nah, she'll be fine." Deep down he knew how much of a terrible brother he was, and some day he'd regret it but for now all he could think of was the cringe-worthy activity he'd be forced to listen in on if he'd went back for his sister.

"Well," Bulma spun the ball in her hands, analyzing every aspect of it. The two of them sat on the edge of the bed. The rest of the room was barely standing. Bulma looked over at Vegeta who had lost interest in the sphere already. He lied on his back, his gaze focused on the ceiling. "I think I figured out why I made this..." The heiress began, " The sonic boom..." she bit her lower lip in thought, " must be-"

"Does it matter," the prince snipped, he still had his gaze up on the cracked ceiling. Bulma shot her husband a glare.

"Check out its power, Vegeta." She threw the ball at him not knowing if he would catch it. Catching it with ease, the prince sat up, his back pressed against the bed's wall. He squeezed the ball a bit, and to his astonishment the steel resisted his squeeze. Any other earthly metal would have been crushed into some unidentifiable form. This however withstood the clench of his hands.

"What the," he squeezed it again, and this time with more force. The metal remained resilient. He tried once more but using both of his hands. Bulma watched him with a smug look; it was a fulfilling to see that something she had created was capable of resisting any damage from her super powerful husband. "What is this?" He roared, his voice strained from squeezing the metal. He got off the bed, and got into a stronger stance and squeezed even harder.

"That's it," with a powerful roar, and a clear aura forming around him, the saiyan prince began to power up. Still the metal was left without a scratch. He stopped and regarded his wife for an explanation. With arms crossed the heiress only offered him a shrug.

"I forgot why I made it, but if its that strong then I'm sure I didn't make it with just any earthly matter." Bulma tapped her finger on her chin in thought, "It must have been something foreign. She stretched out her hand for it. Vegeta, convinced he could crush the ball into ashes continued to squeeze. Bulma giggled a bit at his frustration. A vein popped on his head as her giggle climaxed into laughter.

Aggravated by the whole thing, he flung the ball across the room, "Damn this thing!" He growled. Bulma flinched waiting for the ball to collide with the wall, but when the sound of collision didn't happen, the heiress cracked one eye opened. The ball stopped inches from the wall and floated from where it was thrown. The couple watched with wide eyes as the ball levitated. Vegeta's eyes twitched at how a mere ball was challenging his strength, and Bulma couldn't help but suppress her giddiness over her invention's invincibility.

"Woman..." Vegeta began, his expression back to its regular unfazed scowl, "mind telling me how that thing is capable of all that?"

"I...I think I might have designed it with some alloy...something unearth-like I suppose."

"Well of course it's not of this planet. It would be an insult for me not to crush it if it were some metal from this planet. Where did you get it?" he bit out. To that comment, Bulma threw him a bitter look.

Bulma forced herself to think back to the day she made it. How could she forget about something that great. Her brilliance radiated magnificently from that ball, and she couldn't even remember how and why she made it. She shut her eyes and pondered for a bit, and when she opened her eyes, the memories rushed in like a rapid stream. And with victory, pumped her arms upwards blurting out, "Of course!"

Vegeta turned to his wife who was now rushing to the still levitating ball. She cupped a hands around it gently, and brought it back to the bed. She came closer to her husband, and with the object still clasped in her grip, she urged for him to touch it. He hesitated, but soon complied. The ball remained still, but as he made contact with it the small ball vibrated. Bulma smiled at her husband's amazement. The ball was sensitive to motion; it transitioned from cool to lukewarm and back to cool. When she released it, it defied physics and kept itself afloat.

"I can't believe I forgot about it..." She relayed to herself, "It's a sex bot."

Vegeta's eyes popped from their sockets at her words. How was it even possible? The woman was smart, but he didn't think she was capable of building something this outrageously lewd in her spare time. What purpose could this serve? It was just a ball. Bulma threw her husband a hooded—wanting gaze, the ball still in her hand. Cocking her head to the side and offering him an impish smile, she brought the orb up so he could ravish in its potential as she was. Vegeta regarded her with a discontent look; totally flummoxed by her cocky behavior.

"Now...where were we?" She slithered herself towards him, pouted her lips out, gesturing for him to lean in for a kiss. He kept his eyes fixed on the ball, but when he noticed the playful look in her eyes he finally let his guard down and kissed her.

The two, along with the tron, almost blew the roof of the compound. The box spring was nonexistent near the end of the night, and their sheets were twisted and wrinkled—tossed aside in midst of the panic. The tron was not there to aid them in their activity. For there was nothing on earth: natural or man-made that could keep up with their regime; however, the small ball acted as a barrier matching their motions and body heat. And every time the lovers' passion spiked, the ball would match their stamina, and in some cases it would pursuit the being with the stronger energy. Having the wits and adept fighting ability, Vegeta would counter the ball's attacks. Sometimes the ball, learning quickly from its unsuccessful maneuvers, would shoot materialized waves of energy at the prince. The prince was visibly enjoying himself. The tiny device replicated and gave the impression of a battle, and in its replication pumping the prince with an immeasurable adrenaline. It was a great strategy in bed; giving a saiyan a fight and sex at once.

Near the end, the two lovers lied on their backs feverishly panting. Bulma rolled to her side, and cuddled herself closer to her husband. Through shallow breaths she let out, "We are going to need a new bed..."

"...and new walls," The prince added, looking around their room that had now looked like it had been invaded by an army of androids. Everything was falling apart: from the walls to the slightly caved in ceiling. Seeing the destruction, Bulma slapped a hand to her forehead; it was an upsetting sight. Had she known the orb had that much destructive prowess she would have fortified their room. She combed a few strands of hair behind her ears, and looked up to meet her prince. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping. She smiled and internally raved about how she rocked his world. She squirmed closer to him, her head against his strong bicep. Bringing her lips to his ears she began to nibbled at them eliciting a smirk from the prince.

"So, there's something I have to tell you..." She said, once more nibbling his ears. At that moment, he truly did not think whatever she had to say could ruin the history they created, so he remained relaxed. His eyes still calmly shut, and taking his silence as an indication to proceed, the heiress continued, " We're going on a ski trip with the gang!"

With those words, Vegeta's obsidian eyes snapped open, his muscles tensed up and his calm, leveled, expression instantly reverted into one of his harsher mugs. With fathomless eyes, he turned to his wife...

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**I hope you all liked it!**

**Don't forget to review! I enjoy reading your feedback! I want to know what you think.**

**I hope the whole sex bot was an easy concept to envision. When I was writing it, It literally came as I wrote. I had originally wanted her to use the taser as a sex toy, but then I thought the taser couldn't possibly destroy the room and chase trunks away—again. **

**I had originally planned on making Bulma segue the question midst it all, but I decided it would be more comprehensible if it was done when things cooled down. I hope I made the right choices.**

**Stay tune for Chapter 5: Tell me Yes**

**Find out Vegeta's answer to Bulma's question in the next chapter. **


	5. Chapter 5: Tell Me Yes

**A/N... Chapter 5: Tell me Yes.**

**Last chapter Bulma asked Vegeta the question...find out now what his response is..**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ**

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It happened so fast that Bulma couldn't quite track where it went wrong. She had truly believed that after all the effort she went into pleasing the stubborn prince, he would be inclined to say yes. But the Prince, not one to base his choices on what was morally acceptable, had no problem curtly rejecting the offer. Bulma huffed out in frustration and prepared another approach. Bribery didn't always work, but she grew desperate.

"If you go," she began, but never got to complete her sentence as the prince rose from the bed and disappeared into the halls. Bulma pursed her lips in defeat. _Really?_ she thought in a defeated fluster. She'd gone through so much trouble in pleasing him; even pulling out a device that inevitably left their bedroom in ruins, and the ungrateful bastard didn't even take time to consider. He flat out said no. She pulled up the wrinkled up covers that had been veiling her naked alabaster skin and chased after him.

Her steps were brisk and ungraceful as her entire core ached with soreness. Finding speed in her fluster, she caught up to him and intercepted him. And to prevent him from shifting and evading her she sprawled out both her arms and demanded for him to halt. Vegeta, never one to be controlled, levitated up into the air, and prepared to flew away. She felt the disappointment weighing her down, and in a dramatic fashion she collapsed on the floor, letting out short audible whimpers.

Half way down the hall, Vegeta felt something stir in him. _Guilt, annoyance, pity._ He couldn't tell which of the three he was feeling. Reluctantly he landed back on the floor. He leaned against the wall—arms crossed, face twisted into a stern look...

A smile crept on the side of Bulma's lips. She quickly wiped the grin and replaced it with a sullen look. Not wanting to let her act fail her.

"All I want is for us to spend some quality time with our kids...is that too much to ask?"

"Of me? Yes? I spend ample of time—"

"I'm not asking for much, Vegeta." She interjected. Her tone was now firm. He turned away and scoffed. He knew from the moment she made him that extravagant dinner something was up. He was a fool to let her seduce him so easily, and he felt more like a fool for letting her tears get to him. Many years ago, those tears would serve no means. He'd have no inclination to comfort or please her. But it was different now, and Bulma was perceptive enough to acknowledge his development through the years. She knew before her was a changed man. The icy walls surrounding his heart had melted. He was still a jerk; nonetheless, now a jerk with a heart—that she could manipulate. And so she did, "All I ask," she sniffled, "Is to join me and the kids for just one week."

"One week!?" Bulma cringed at his volume. She tapped her index fingers against her lips, motioning for him to keep it down for Bra's sake. The prince slid back to his cool stoic composure. He crossed his arms and turned his head away. From his outburst, he hoped the woman caught his dire wish to not participate. One week stuck in the mountain with the kids and the woman was manageable—if it were in fact just them. But there would be others. The thought of being around so many humans all at once repulsed him, and not to mention, they'd be joined by the group of incompetence she called friends. Her friends were far less repulsing than the mundane human race, but they still irritated him. Especially Kakarot. After teaming up to defeat Majin Buu the two saiyan warriors were able to mend fences and become friends. Though _friends_ was too much of a strong word and had been more of Goku's choice of reference. Vegeta settled for civil rivals.

"I can't imagine Kakarot agreeing to this—a whole week without training." Vegeta said.

"Well." Bulma got up from the floor and brushed herself off. She approached him, forcing him to look at her. "Unlike you! Goku will actually listen to his wife."

Vegeta scoffed, "He's a fool for being so submissive."

"Submissive? No _he_ is being a gentleman," she harped, jabbing her index finger hard on his chest. "And _you_ are being an ass!"

Bulma crossed her arms mirroring her husband. She stood firmly in front of him: expression cool and dangerous. He'd cave in sooner or later, she thought. But if needed be, she'd stand all night staring daggers into his soul. Vegeta brought his eyes back to hers, and noticed how fixated and unrelenting her glare was. Seeing that she wasn't going to stop pushing for a yes the prince conceded.

"What was that?" Bulma cupped one hand behind her ears, "I didn't hear you." The prince's scowl deepened, and finally having enough, he turned and walked away. But Bulma was persistent she followed suit, and squarely intercepted his steps. He could have easily evaded her, but deep down he admired her spunk. Taking her unrelenting stance into deep consideration, he deliberated of the ends she'd drive to to force him into complying: she'd spend each day making his life a living hell, she would pin her back outside of the gravity room ready to bombard him with the same annoying question, she'd harp on all through the nights driving him mad, he'd be woken up not by the buzzing sound of his alarm, but by the pestering sound of her voice once again pressing him with the same question. Those thoughts were enough to give him a throbbing headache.

Bulma squared her hands on her hips and stared him down ferociously. Seeing her persistence, the saiyan prince knew the only redress was to comply. He mumbled something once more and prepared to cross over to the other side of the hall, but she stopped him with her hands, seeping her nails into the fabric of his shirt and pulling at it. "What. did. you. say?" she queried, a beat after every word. He grunted turning away from her lethal glare. He wasn't intimidated by her looks, but this one held something.

"Fine," he muttered more clearly. She soften her grip on him, and ironed off the wrinkles she'd pressed on his shirt with her hands. She grabbed both his shoulders and pulled him closer to her.

With a softer look she said, "I knew you'd say yes." And with that, she placed a soft kiss on his cheeks and went her way. The prince stood idly, holding looks of confusion, frustration, and defeat. Had he just been tricked? Walking away with certain arrogance in her steps, the determined heiress quipped, "And sweetie—" she turned her head profile and finished, "—make sure to pack the essentials...we leave Friday."

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**Hope you all liked it!**

**Don't be shy, drop me a review!**

**Stay tune for Chapter 6:**

**Plan for a Fight**

**It's time to send the invites. Bulma calls up all her friends to invite them to the special vacation. Everyone seems to be gung-ho, but when the warriors are faced with a threat from outer space the vacation plans are put on hold... Find out who this threat is in the next exciting chapter.**


	6. Plan for a Fight

**A/N... Here's the next chapter. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too too long.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.**

**Enjoy!**

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Bulma passed her pen from knuckle to knuckle as she carefully mapped out the activities for the respected days of the trip. It wasn't an easy task. The heiress knew with powerful friends the courses and activities she'd plan would barely serve as a challenge. Sooner the trip would become dull and unbearably boring if she'd stuck to the cliche races. She needed something even a saiyan would find impossible to do. And with Vegeta on board—"Mr. I rather train all day" — he wouldn't allow their son to partake in senseless human activities.

"Maybe a few spars," the heiress mused, but then as quickly as she wrote it erased the idea. There was no way she'd allow any forms of fighting happen on her vacation. If anything happened they'd be banned, or worse, people could get hurt and sue. She didn't need that sort of bad publicity.

After an hour of idly sitting on her chair scrimmaging little notes, the heiress grew bored and irritated. Bulma never thought planning would be far challenging than getting her stubborn husband on-board. She brought her gaze back to the clock, resolving that planning for a saiyan was futile, and letting things unfold spontaneously was the better option. The chair skidded back as she stood up. The place was calm. The only audible sound was the sound of the bots she had ordered to repair the damages she and Vegeta had done last night.

Since that night, the silver orb had since inhabited the dusky inside of the coffer. Although a fun, risky twist, it caused too much destruction and noise. Poor Trunks escaped the house in a start. The boy was absolutely startled. So much so, he ran for the hills, or rather the house on the hills-the Sons house.

"Bra." Bulma slipped into the toddler's dimly lit room. It was time for breakfast. "Come here baby." She stretched her hands out to her daughter. Bra's face lit up, and with impeccable balance and agility for a two year old, jumped into her mother's arms. Bulma cooed affectionately as she rubbed faces with her toddler daughter. With their faces still pressed together, Bulma asked, "how did my little girl sleep last night?" Bulma was hopeful the little girl actually did sleep considering the storm erupting from her and Vegeta's room. The two made their way to the kitchen. Playfully, Bulma bounced the small girl in her arms while humming an unknown melody.

The kitchen was unusually bare and quiet. Usually, Bulma's mother would overtake the kitchen with her sweet humming, concocting little tiny deserts to serenade any impromptu guests with. If not her mother occupying the kitchen, her father would overtake the large wooden breakfast table. Tinkering with a few last model gadgets. He'd have a steaming cup of Joe, and Scratch the black cat beside him. Ever so often, when anyone would walk in, he'd keep his gaze staunchly on the gadget he was working on and greet them without a moments glance. The empty kitchen stirred something within Bulma. Just as her son had abandoned deck after hearing the distance cries of her and Vegeta's memorable night, her parent's might have done the same. Bulma's face reddened at the thought.

"Strawberries." Bra pointed to a bowl of washed berries. Her enunciation was remarkable. Proud of her daughter's growing mind and vocabulary, Bulma placed a kiss on her daughter's round cheeks. She sat Bra on her high chair and went to fetch the strawberries.

"Anything for you princess," Bulma crooned. She took the bowl and placed it in front of her daughter. Normally the little girl would cheer, but this time the small girl stared blankly at the bowl. Bulma stopped in her tracks, confused at the less than enthused expression on her daughter's face. "What is it, Bra?"

"Trunks?" The little girl let out. Even at her age, Bra was aware of her surroundings. She had grown accustom to her older brother's presence at the kitchen table. Though, it was hard to forget the boy's usual morning breakfast antics? Trunks was hardly the type to sit still and eat his meal. He'd either ruffle his baby sister's nerves by stealing food from her bowl, or barricade his parent's with questions to which his father would only reply in threats or insults.

Bulma sighed and went to her daughter, she stroked Bra's baby soft cheeks with the back of her four fingers, "He'll be home later...He's with Goten." The little girl's mood still seemed dampened by her brother's absence. Bulma frowned and decided the best way in cheering up the little girl was to offer up some more sweets. Normally the idea of invoking her kids into a potential sugar high would be categorized in the "Never do it" category, but the pouting look her daughter was giving her went through her like silver bullets.

"How about some chocolate syrup and whip cream on those strawberries?" The little girl's face lit up. Bulma with a light smile shook her head slowly, "Oh Bra. If I hadn't known you planned this all along, didn't you?" She ruffled the little girls long blue locks, "brains like your mommy." Bulma turned her back and walked to the fridge. A loud contenting screech from her daughter prompted a quick turn. She turned to see Vegeta. He was dressed in sweats for training. Bra, forgetting her promised sweets, raised her hands up to her father. Her fingers curleing and uncurling as she beg her father to pick her up. She was truly enthralled by her father. His presence never failed to string a giggle or smile out of her. Although he wasn't the type to coo or spoil her with kisses and hugs, like Bulma, he did however offer his daughter a warmer approachable temperament. Bulma smiled at the two, watching as the man—known to eradicate an entire planet— was capable of being an attentive daddy.

Bulma, as promised, pulled out the chocolate syrup and whip cream, "I know I'll regret this, but I'm feeding her sweets. The little munchkin misses Trunks," said Bulma, her back still turned.

"Where is the boy?"

Bulma felt rising to her cheeks again at the recollection of last nights events. "I think we scared him off." Vegeta, always one to find humor in other's distress, smiled slightly at the news. With her back still turned she could feel his amusement and scolded. "It's not funny, Vegeta." She turned and went to the table where Bra's bowl of strawberries were, and began coating the red berries with chocolate and whip cream. "I'm hoping this trip can erase his trauma."

Vegeta's smile waned. He had forgotten about that stupid trip, and the reminder of it had brought back his sour feeling of losing the argument with his wife.

The idea itself was terrible. There were many things that could go wrong:

1) The earthlings would trudge on his nerves and with his short fuse and inability to repress his resort to violence, he'd possibly twist them into a pretzel.

2) He absolutely hated the snow. He wasn't bothered by the cold; that could easily be adjusted, but the feel of snow and its overall appearance brewed anger in him. Most people found it majestic and beautiful, he found it insufferable and an inconvenience. He dared for a soul to throw a ball of snow at him. That action was enough for him to blast the culprit straight to hell.

And finally, Vegeta would have to spend two weeks isolated on the snowy alps with kakarot and his brood of idiots. Nothing worse for the prince that to swallow his frustration and discomfort when surrounded by the so-called martial artists. The prince wondered why the woman had to invite the ingrates. He'd be less inclined to say no if it were just him, Bulma and their kids. Hell, he'd even tolerate her parents. Give the old man a heap of metal and a sanctuary of animals and he'd barely be noticed. Give the old woman a package of flour, and she'd be out of his hair. Anyone but the Z-losers. Despite his unnerving irritation and reluctance, the prince decided not to aggravate the issue. He didn't care enough for another long-winded lecture.

"I started packing your bags," Bulma let out, she could tell from his face he was fretting the trip. "I also made sure to pack the thing you liked," Bulma's eyes hooded coquettishly. Vegeta's face remained the same, as if the words intended to arouse desire had no effect. But it did, inwardly he felt the ravaging desire course through his saiyan blood. Never had something man made could equate to his strength. Albeit this device wasn't man made. It was Bulma made.

"What?" He said, playing it coy. Bulma cocked one brow and bit her lips impishly. When he offered her silence and an unfazed expression, she dropped her coy act and adopted a slightly bothered expression. Finally after a few more minutes of silence, she huffed, " The silver ball..." With that she turned her attention back to her daughter whose face was glued to the bowl.

"Oh slow down, Bra." Bulma tried inserting a small plastic fork into the equation. But Bra rejected the offer and continued eating with her face. Bulma looked on a bit disturbed, but Vegeta seemed more than proud that his daughter was displaying a saiyan mannerism. After breakfast, the family broke apart into their own activities. Vegeta went to his training, Bra went back to her room and passed the extra time with her toys, and Bulma decided to call up everyone and inform them of this plan.

* * *

The first person to call was Krillin; for he was the easier candidate in pushing to say yes. Her tactics with him would be proposing a plan and then forcefully intimidating him into acquiescing. Since her grit worked well with him, the call would be quick and successful.

"Hello," his familiar voice came could hear a small girl's voice in the background. Krillin, briefly pulled the phone from his lips and contended with his daughter's need, and then returned his attention back to Bulma. "Sorry about that."

"No it's fine..." Bulma unknowingly started wringing the cord around her fingers. "Trunks bought his first ski boots, and I wanted him to try them out on the slopes..." The cord was now looped around all five of her fingers. "So I thought why not make a vacation out of it." Bulma's voice rose up a few octaves at _vacation_. "You and your family are welcome to come..." the heiress paused but then quickly added, "and by welcome I mean you have to come, and I won't take no for an answer."

The other line was silence for a prolonged second, prompting Bulma to pull the phone from her ear and inspect it. Krillin's voice came back, but lacked the enthusiasm and tone she was looking for. "I don't know...money is a bit tight right now," said the tiny man skeptically. His daughter's voice was still audible, and seemed that the small girl was growing restless.

"Nonsense!" the heiress blurted, "It's all expense paid vacation. All on me. Did you really think I'd invite you and make you pay?"

The small man laughed from the other line and with a little more insisting from Bulma agreed. Bulma checked out Krillin's name on the paper before her and sent him off. Onto the next name.

"Goku and his family," Bulma muttered as she played out the conversation in her head. She knew he'd be hardest candidate, but getting Vegeta on board had inflated her confidence enough—getting Goku on board would be a piece of cake. _Cake. _The heiress considered the thought of offering cake as a form of invite for the saiyan.

A woman's voice came through the line.

"Hey," Bulma managed, she was still a bit embarrassed by how her and Vegeta's pastime actions chased her son to the raven-haired woman's house. "Is Trunk still over," she decided to start with that instead of heading straight to the ski idea.

"Oh those two..." Chichi began, with a slight playfulness to her tone, "They're with Goku...I think sparring." Bulma let out a sigh of relief one which was caught by her friend on the other line. "By the way, Bulma, what happened last night..." The younger of the woman asked knowingly.

Bulma stiffened at the acquisition, and her silence was all the answer Chichi needed. Taking the brief silence as a segue to a new topic, Bulma inserted, "So I'm planning a ski trip for Trunks. You have space in your calendar?"

"Hm, let me see," the wait wasn't too long, after a seconds pause, Chichi responded, " Of course I do. Don't I ever!"

"Make sure to convince Goku," Bulma cheered over the phone.

As if barely a challenge for her, Chichi snorted, "Oh please, just mentioning boatloads of food will be enough to convince him."

The two remained on the line for a few more minutes discussing smaller, trivial matter. "Well, just don't tell Trunks about it yet, I want to be the one to tell him." Said Bulma before ending the call with her friend.

* * *

Trunks was home just a few hours before dinner. Once stepping foot through the door, the young saiyan prince evaded his mother's eyes. With his cerulean irises taking interest in his shoes rather than his mother's eyes, the boy greeted his mother bashfully. Bulma felt chagrin stir within her. She tried at opening greeting with her son, but the boy seemed to dismiss it with a brusque _hello._ Bulma pouted at her son's surly attitude, and before the boy could make his away to the kitchen Bulma let the news of the trip slip.

"We're going to the slopes this friday..." The boy stopped on his track, his back still turned. Slowly he swiveled on the heel of his left foot and faced his mother. His eyes finally meeting hers. His eyes widened progressively as his mouth went agape.

It didn't long for the boy to burst with excitement, "REALLY!?" He beamed. Bulma nodded, satisfied by his reaction. It was clear whatever trauma he had suffered was now erased...hopefully. "Can goten come?"

"Of course he can, son!" she scratched the top of his head playfully and motioned for him to go start packing. He ran so fast upstairs, his body became a transparent blur. "And make sure to pack your ski equipment," she called out to him.

* * *

Friday came fast. Trunks couldn't contain his excitement. Spending every waking moment chanting about his trip all to his father's dismay of course. Bulma done the necessaries for the trip by calling the cabin and renting the needed space for the brood of people she would bring. One instance, one person from the cabin, a woman with a distinctly uncommon vibrato to her voice, denied the heiress of the ten rooms she ordered. Of course the woman was served with the heiress's explosive temper and a threat to bring the whole franchise down. Once her formidable identity was exposed to the stingy worker, the woman deplored in quicken words her apology.

It was only 7 am, and the heiress was up and about checking to see if her children had properly packed. Bra, naive as to what is formal for the cold airs of the slopes only packed her dolls and their clothes and a few mismatched clothing. Bulma sighed at her daughter; she should have known better than to think a two year old could properly pack for herself.

"Okay," Bulma knelt down to level her eyes with her daughters, "You can only bring one toy." And to that the little girl's face twisted into a stubborn pout. Her eyes moistened with tears, but she held them back as her mother wagged her index fingers disapprovingly at her. Bra relinquished her pouting face and let her mother clear out all the dolls in the suitcase. The little girl surveyed her room looking for a formidable toy worthy enough to company her for the entire week. The teddy bear given to her by her father caught her eyes and incited her to run and grab for it. The great about the plush toy was not because it was the most apt toy in her room; it was just the sentimental values in it. Seldom did Vegeta find it necessary to go out of his way to buy his kids sappy toys from the kid store. Not because his kids didn't deserve it, but because the prince placed his kids on a higher plateau. Anything owned by them should not be owned by the other snot-nosed earthlings out there. (Mainly because a basic toy could never withstand his children's strength) but he got Bra that plush toy despite his own feelings about them. He knew how happy it would make her, and he was willing to recant his own ideas on the matter just to please her. From that day on, the child treated the plush toy with the respect, ruling above all her other toys.

"I choose this one," she handed the toy for her mother to pack it. Bulma grabbed the push and threw a sunny smile at her daughter. It took Bulma 30 minutes to pack Bra up, and once she finished, she instructed the little girl to be a big girl and freshen herself up. Trunks was next for inspection.

The boy was more than ready. His room was unusually clean, and all his luggages were stacked neatly in the corner. The boy was transparent. His excitement could not be repressed. He sat on the edge of his bed, legs crossed and arms pinned on his folded kneecaps. "Is it time to go?" The boy jumped from where he sat and went to grab his bags. Bulma shook her head at her son, prompting him to slouch in disappointment.

"When can we go," said the young prince running in place. Bulma squared her arms on her hips and advised her son to be patient. The boy stopped jogging in place, but standing still patience was far beyond his ability. After checking to see if her children were prepared it was time to check on the one last person: Vegeta.

The heiress found her prince leaning on the wall in the balcony of their room. He had on his characteristic scowl and stance. The prince clucked lightly in annoyance when Bulma approached him. She offered him a warmer look than he offered her

"You ready hun?" She simpered.

"I packed if that's what you're asking..." His said curtly. She took no offense to his sour mood. It was to be expected that he'd act this way. All she really cared about was him going that's all. She didn't expect for him to be jumping in absolute glee—that she expected from Trunks and got it.

"Good." She walked closer to him, standing face to face, forcing the very peeved Vegeta to make eye contact. When their eyes finally meet, he rolled his gaze up to the sky above. Noticing his detached behavoir, she cocked her head to the side feigning a hurt look. "Aw, is my little prince mad?" She said in a voice she usually used with the kids whenever they were mad. A vein of discontent and annoyance materialized in the Prince's forehead. But not wanting to spoil things, Bulma relented on her teasing and grabbed his hands. He didn't pull away, but he also did not reciprocate any effort in the hold. His hands remained limp in hers.

"Thank you," her tone was soft and appeasing, and before releasing her hold on his hand she placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand. Still the Prince offered no reciprocation, but he did offer her one gaze. Bulma left him soon after and went to prepare the ship.

She was due to pick everyone up and leave for the mountains by noon. If they left at noon, they'd arrive late evening at around six or seven. Just in time for a large dinner at the very famous restaurant bridged in the resort. It was called _Amamata. _And from the reviews she read online everyone raved about the live entertainments and the exquisite plates of food offered. That was something for the saiyans partaking—the food would surely convince them to stay. _  
_

* * *

It was now 8am, and everyone in the house stood outside waiting for Bulma to throw the capsule. But before her thumb could press down on the cap, both Trunks and Vegeta's attention shot to the sky. The look on their eyes were marked with anticipation and shock. They weren't the only ones who had sensed the danger. Abruptedly, Goku materialized in front of them with the same look shot towards the sky.

"I felt it too," Goku said, his focus now on Vegeta. The two exchanged a curt nod as if the only ones able to understand their nonverbal without a moments wait, the two rocketed up to the sky leaving a swirl of dust behind. Bulma's eyes popped out of her head as the two disappeared into the early blue sky.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU GUYS THINK YOU'RE DOING!" She hollered after them, fuming with a lethal anger. Trunks whose eyes was still placated on the sky gave his mother an apologetic look before following suit.

"Trunks," Bulma rasped slowly and partly to herself. He had been so excited for this trip. She felt her shoulders slump down at the rising disappointment. Bra tugged at her mother's pants to grab her attention.

"Mama," the small girl offered, her voice on the brink of crying. Bulma bent down and hugged her daughter with her eyes still on the sky. Whatever or whomever had called forth Goku, her son, and her husband's attention, had to be something urgent. She couldn't imagine Trunks sacrificing this trip for something trivial. She felt her heart sink at the possible doom that stood before them. More doom drowned her sullen heart as she thought of how the trip she spent weeks planning and planning could be a ghost memory of the past that never occurred if the threat confronting them was not contended with...successfully. And as more worry traveled into her being she felt her stomach drop. What was worse and most discomforting was that she had no idea who this potential was and how useless she was at this moment. She'd plan everything, but she had not planned for a fight—let alone one detrimental to the survival of her loved ones.

* * *

**A/N... Well I hope you enjoyed that chapter: It was a bit long, and I hope I didn't drag anything out.**

**If you thought they'd simply go to the resort without any hindrance than you were sadly mistaken. I had to add a little hindrance to the plot...What's a plot without conflict in the DBZ universe, huh?**

**Drop me a review!? I'd like to read your feedback!**

**Stay tune for Chapter 7: The Enemy From Space**

**Find out who this mysterious opponent is and if the Z-warriors can defeat in time for the Ski trip. Find out Next Chapter!**

**-Spoiler: This enemy and Vegeta go way back...Circa Frieza's reign.**


	7. The Enemy From Space

**A/N... I'm sure you're wondering who this threat is, and if the Z-Fighters are capable of defeating this menace in time for the trip. **

**Disclaimer: -sigh- I do not own DBZ. **

* * *

Bulma threw the sky one last forlorn look before deciding to go inside. Bra, who had her fingers clipped on her mother's side, began whimpering. She was too young to verbally form the reason for her discontent, but knew enough something was wrong. The young princess knew that her father and brother's hasten exit was on account of something dangerous.

Bulma felt her heart drop at her youngest child's discontent. The heiress never really took the time to wrap her mind around what just happened herself, but her daughter's hiccuped tears brought back the fear she'd tried so hard to stifle. Crouching down to her daughter's height, Bulma gave the small demi-saiyan a reassuring smile.

"Daddy and Trunks will be back soon," she said, barely convincing herself. The chances of Trunks and Vegeta coming back in time for the trip was slim; chances of them coming back in peak condition, however much she tried mentally evading, was even slimmer. She wandered around the room for a minute until a dull pain rose from her ankles, prompting her to take a seat on the sofa. In her line of sight, tucked neatly inside an alcove were the luggage—yet to be capsulized. Bulma wondered if she should use this free time to capsulize them. But that action would be done in vain considering the fact that she had no idea if and when her son and husband would be back. _If_ that was the painful word._ If _was the second cousin twice removed from _maybe_. It served no surety. The morose thoughts reveling in her mind would not concede for the word _If. _In fact, the word stirred more doubt and fear within the heiress.

Bulma pulled her cerulean eyes from the luggage and brought them to the television before her. Her eyes went unfocused and the solid exterior frame of the t.v became disfigured by the blur her eyes created from the lack of focus. Not a second went by before the screen roared to life. Startled by the sudden burst of colors and sound, Bulma adjusted her composure. Bra nestled herself next to her mother with the remote clutched tightly in her hands. Intentionally, noticing her mother's detachment, she decided to entertain—possibly distract them from their current predicament with the tv. Though such meager pastime would serve no ounce of comfort for the imminent struggles their loved ones would soon face.

* * *

Below them the city blurred in sight. The sun hid its rays sheepishly behind a grayish cloud. While the sky, effervescent, began to darken; going from a pallor blue to a dusky indigo. Goku slowed his flight to a halt, and seconds after, Vegeta stopped. He gave his fellow saiyan a questioning look.

"Whatever we do, we have to isolate the fight," Goku suggested, his gaze surveying the life below them. From where they levitated, the buildings and people appeared minuscule. It was the clamor of chatter from the inhabitants that riled Goku to form the plan.

Goku turned to his fellow saiyan. "Who do you think it is?" He queried.

"Does it matter?" The prince deadpanned. Unlike Kakarot, his focus was not on the humans, but rather on defeating whomever challenged him; protecting only those he deemed worthy of his protection. Since the fight with Kid Buu, the saiyan prince found the human race even more insufferable. Then he'd suffered an awful rejection from the earthlings. After that embarrassment, he'd vowed to never fight for their safety. They were not worth saving. The prince would never forget how they shrugged him off when he asked for aid (for their own good). Even after swallowing his own pride, they'd refused him and Kakarot aid. The saiyan prince had seen brighter—more resourceful galactic slugs. And now, when he fought, he fought for his family. That was all the incentives he needed.

With the city behind, a desert like plain materialized before them. Large boulders and steep cliffs occupied the spatial land. Plants grew sporadically between the cracks bared by the land. It was a barren wasteland with a cool breeze that would whirl itself, picking up thin layers of dust. The sun moved from the veil of the gray clouds, beaming. The striking light erased any possible shade. Vegeta briefly calculated the land before choosing it for their battle ground. When the warriors landed, silence filled the air with a heavy scent of apprehension.

Though the silence didn't last long. From afar, in the sky, someone approached. Without a single glance, Vegeta knew his son had decided on joining. Behind him were three others: Gohan, Goten, and Piccolo. Everyone was joining the party. A party filled with imminent casualties. Trunks was first to land, with the others following suit.

"Can we make this a quick kill." The young prince brought on soon after his landing, his tone half-amused.

He was served a chastising look from Piccolo who then added, "whatever you have planned consider it cancelled." Trunks' shoulder dropped at the namek's words. He had been so excited for this trip, and more so, he felt bad for all the trouble his mother went into organizing.

Goten saw the disappointment in his best friend. "Stop being so pest mystic, Piccolo."

"Pessimistic," Trunks blandly corrected.

The chatter soon died when a metallic sphere gleamed above. For the untrained eye, the ship was barely visible, but for the aptly prepared warriors below, the ship was vivid. It came down with impeccable speed landing beyond a far off cliff to the north. The blunt force of the landing caused some distant cliffs and ridges to shatter. The sound, like a bell sounding off, started them off. Auras of flashing energy encircled the z-fighters as they bounded for the ship. Their speed led them to the site in under five minutes. Leading the way was a very eager Trunks. He wanted to know the idiot that dared challenged their formidable group.

He soon got his answer. The ship had created a crater large enough to call an island. The cracks in the ground were deep enough for a river to form. The ship resembled a saiyan pod, but it was larger, and more condensed in space granting the thought that only one person was in there. The warriors scattered themselves strategically around the ship. Occupying a higher plateau of land stood Vegeta; his brows furrowing into a menacing frown. Whomever this enemy was, he was allied with the piracy of planet trading. Which meant he was allied with the former tyrant, Frieza. Vegeta exhaled sharply at the realization. Once again, his past continued its onslaught on his present. There was a chance the prince knew the body tenanting the ship.

The door of the pod lifted slowly, as one large, bulky leg took its first firm step onto Earth soils. The alien bent down to fit through the low frame of the exit way, his back facing away from his opposing guests. He wore the traditional saiyan uniform, and from his ear a scouter hung. The man was robust towering in height greater than Piccolo himself. He had raven, disheveled hair that brushed against his back. It was intertwined into a low pony by an ochre colored twine. This man was surely allied with Frieza, Vegeta thought.

_Great. _The saiyan prince inwardly mused, a smirk of delight crept on his lips. Nothing riled his excitement more than disfiguring the face of his former comrades, pummeling them to the ground. The very ones who doubted his power, and shut down his abilities by comparing him to Frieza. Now he was far more powerful than frieza himself. Vegeta wanted to engrave fear into this man, and contingent on his time on Earth, he's grown merciful. After his beating, he'd let the weakling go—of course in doing so, the prince's name would be raved with fear and admiration. Vegeta's smirk widened without losing his scowl. Piccolo had been the only one aware of Vegeta's expression. He'd seen that face before. The namekian knew how dangerous that face was—not only to the rivaling fighter, but to the planet.

Piccolo's eyes narrowed and telepathically he warned Goku, _I think Vegeta knows this guy, and from the blood thirsty look in his eyes, I'm not sure the odds are in this planet's favor._ Goku, who had his eyes on the namekian turned to look at his fellow saiyan. Like Piccolo, he caught the ardor in Vegeta's eyes. He'd seen that look once before. In fact, he'd fought Vegeta with that very same look. The look held an impurity, a shadow of violence and evil. The look of a killer who'd just spotted their prey.

Goku felt something in him stir. Maybe letting Vegeta partake in the fight would not be in the best interest for the Earth, but stopping the prince from fighting would be more of a costing consequence to the Earth. Defeated by his own thoughts, the saiyan warrior looked back, offering Piccolo a vacant shrug.

* * *

Bulma held the phone, stared at it thoughtfully, pondering on who to call first to cancel. It was now ten in the morning. By now she should have already picked up Krillin and his family, and heading towards Chichi's house. She'd stalled calling them, hoping maybe, just maybe her boys would run back battered and bruised ready to make their trip. But after the hours trickled down, it was clear that the whole trip needed to be cancelled. Kami knows when she'll be able to take another week off work, and if so, she'd have to re-convince her husband.

With a sharp, long sigh of disappointment, the heiress made her phone calls. After the sixth ring, the call went to the answering machine. Bulma's face scrunched into a look of bewilderment. For Krillin to not answer was rare...even so, Master roshi or the turtle should have been there to answer. The heiress gave another try, and to her fluster she was met with the same result. She tried calling Chichi, and again her call was left unanswered.

"Where is everyone?" She put the phone back in the receiver. Propping her chin up on the base of her palms, she traced a finger on the wooden lines of the table, absently defacing the surface with her nails. Her eyes ventured off to the clock and her brows knit, frowning at the pace the hour hand was moving in. It was well passed eleven. Sooner or later it would be too late to even go to the cabins.

As she contemplated on her next steps, a buzzer from the entrance hall riddled her attention. With her back hunched into a disappointed slump, she went to answer it. Before opening the door, she peered through the eye hole. With a new threat in town, it wasn't quite a safe idea to nonchalantly open doors. Then again, she's never known a powerful idiot to casually ring bells. They lacked the patience and the technological competence to do such a thing. She rapped a hand on the door and pulled it open half way. Noticing the figures were of Chichi, Yamcha, and Krillin, she opened the door all the way, her jaw dropping in the process.

She ushered them in quickly. "What are you guys doing here?" She glared, crossing her arms when her eyes landed on Yamcha and Krillin. "And shouldn't you two be out helping?"

With hands braced in front of him as ways of blocking the daggers she glared into him, Yamcha countered, " well, Krillin and I know we're out class..."

"Speak for yourself buddy," the shorter man chimed, as he made his way to the sofa where a sleeping Bra laid. "Wow Bulma, did you clone yourself?"

Bulma, almost as if she'd missed Krillin's remark, went on about the threat that came to earth. "All I know is that, Vegeta and Trunks..." She wandered to another room, "—went to fight this villain. Along with Goku."

"Yeah, Gohan and Goten went after him after sensing it." Chichi added, her face strewn into a calculative stare. Her eyes traveled to the bags tucked neatly inside the alcove and traveled back to the blue haired heiress. She felt a pang of sorrow for her friend. How many times had she herself been caught in the same tirade: plan something only to have it destroyed instantaneously by a space criminal...She walked to her friend and offered her a soothing rub on the back. Bulma thanked her with a warm look.

"Why did you guys come here anyway?" Bulma let out, subtly trying to hide her exasperation.

"We came here to personally apolo—"

An idea came to Chichi and before long she found herself interrupting Krillin, "—help you load all this junk to the space craft..."

They all gave the raven haired woman a bewildered look. She marched to the packed bags and started at the largest. With her strength, she easily lifted the large bag up her shoulders, grunting at the impact the weight had on her body. " Come on you dweebs," she directed at Krillin and Yamcha. " Grab a bag..." The two men exchanged looks but a fiery look from the raven-haired woman caught them up to her plans. They ran to her aid, each grabbing two giant bags. Bulma contorted her face into a confused grimace.

Dumbfounded by the drastic changed of events, she pressed the back of her hands to her forehead, and inquired, "What about Vegeta...Trunks...we can't go withou—"

"Of course not, silly." Chichi was already making her way to the door. "We are just going to have them meet us there." Hope gleamed in her eyes and just for a second, Bulma believed her.

But only for a second.

"Chichi we can't just go..." Bulma argued, her arms sprawled out gesticulating the point in the other woman's irrational thinking. She went before her, intercepting her steps to the door. "I can't imagine myself there without my family. Besides..." she trailed off as a lump clogged her throat, distilling her fears.

"Bulma," Chichi softly murmured. "You can't think like that."

"I have to Chichi," the heiress snapped. "I have a young daughter." She lowered her voice and directed her focus to her sleeping baby girl—"who is going to want to know where her brother and father are...What do I tell her?" The defeat stained her voice, making it raspy and quivery. It was like a dam surrendering after being inflicted with a crack, a surge of emotions overtook the blue haired woman. She pressed a hand to conceal her face as she let the tears ravage her face. Sniffling loudly into her hands as her breath became short.

The heiress didn't look up when her friends crowned over her offering their concern. Chichi pulled her into a warm embrace as her own eyes let out one tear. The raven-haired woman felt for her friend. She was on the same boat. Her husband and both her sons were out there fighting. She had as much grief and anxiety as her friend. What held her up was her belief in their abilities. Surely enough, she knew Bulma didn't doubt her husband and son, but the pain had blinded her rationality. Bulma was no longer the calculative genius, she was a mother and a wife: she couldn't think with logic, she couldn't focus on _x _and y. Bulma was focusing on that pressing, almost elevator sinking feeling in her gut. The feeling that deterred all positive outcomes, but instead painted a morose, despairing portrait. _  
_

* * *

**I really hope you enjoyed that chapter. I intended it to be longer, but I felt it was dragging on, so i had to cut out a few scenes. The cut scenes will cross over to the next chapter. I promise you will find out who this enemy is next chapter.**

**Stay tune for Chapter 7**

**Trunks Onslaught a Frightful Mishap. **

**-Find out who this enemy from space is. His identity is connected to the Frieza saga.**

**-Chichi tries to convince Bulma to continue on with the plan, but the heiress is fearful of the fight her son and husband are engaging in**

**-Trunks makes a bold move**


End file.
